


Classic TV Kinktober 2018 Drabbles

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Hogan's Heroes, Magnum P.I. (TV), Starsky & Hutch, The A-Team (TV), The Dukes of Hazzard (TV), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: All The Ships, Classic TV - Freeform, Drabble Collection, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, drabble specific tags at the start of every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Gonna try to write for some of my favourite classic TV fandoms AND do Kinktober in one fell swoop. First chapter will have the official prompt list copied from Tumblr and I will update with which stories go with which pairings and such as we go for those of you who are only invested in this or that ship/fandom. (A few may be written in advance because grad school scheduling hell, but I'll post them on the appropriate days.) Wish me luck, y'all! Edit: running behind but I'm going to do them all whether they're late or not. Grad school is unkind to fic writers.





	1. PROMPT LIST - FROM TUMBLR

**Author's Note:**

> https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018 <\- here's the link, all credit to the original prompt-makers!

* * *

 

 

 

##  [Kinktober 2018](https://kinktober2018.tumblr.com/post/171107184776/kinktober-2018)

 

 

 

**FANDOM** **TOTAL STORY COUNT:  
**

5       Murdock/Face  
5       Magnum/Higgins  
5       Klink/Hogan  
5       Starsky/Hutch  
5       Enos/Rosco  
5       Napoleon/Illya

**+1 wildcard on the 31st**

1\. Deep-Throating ~~| Inflation~~ | Face-Sitting | ~~Masks~~        **STARSKY/HUTCH**  
2\. ~~Ass Worship |~~ Begging | Medical play | Watersports       **KLINK/HOGAN**  
3\. Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play        **NAPOLEON/ILLYA**  
4\. Spanking | Mirror Sex ~~| Spit-roasting |~~ Dacryphilia (Crying)       **ENOS/ROSCO**  
5\. Feet | Sadism/Masochism | Feederism ~~| Shotgunning~~        **STARSKY/HUTCH**  
6\. Daddy ~~| Corset |~~ Cock Worship | Biting        **ENOS/ROSCO**  
7\. Praise-kink ~~| Body Swap |~~ Aphrodisiacs ~~| Incest~~ **KLINK/HOGAN**  
8\. Blood/Gore ~~| Prostitution/Sex Work |~~ Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex       **STARSKY/HUTCH**  
9\. ~~Titfucking~~ | Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles) | Bondage | Lingerie       **MAGNUM/HIGGINS**  
10\. Hair-pulling | Waxplay ~~| Micro/Macro |~~ Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)        **STARSKY/HUTCH**  
11\. Object Insertion | Sounding | Cross-dressing ~~| Tribadism/Scissoring~~        **ENOS/ROSCO**  
12\. Licking | Pet Play | Rimming/Analingus | Costume        **MURDOCK/FACE**  
13\. Weight Gain | Distant/Distracted Sex ~~| Gags | Creampie~~ **MAGNUM/HIGGINS**  
14\. Asphyxiation ~~| Cunnilingus | Distention |~~ Tentacles        **MURDOCK/FACE**  
15  Forniphilia (Human Furniture) | Overstimulation | Intercrural Sex |Uniforms        **KLINK/HOGAN**  
16\. Nipple Play | Frottage | Body Worship | Sixty-nine        **MAGNUM/HIGGINS**  
17\. Masturbation | Seduction | Collaring | Orgasm Denial       **NAPOLEON/ILLYA**  
18\. Fucking Machine | Latex | Role Reversal | Xenophilia        **NAPOLEON/ILLYA**  
19\. Public | Formal Wear | Straitjacket ~~| Cock-Warming~~       **MURDOCK/FACE**  
20\. ~~Urophagia~~ | Hot-Dogging | Emeto | Dirty talk        **NAPOLEON/ILLYA**  
21\. ~~Bukakke |~~ Food play | Suspension | Branding       **KLINK/HOGAN**  
22\. Impact Play | Cuckolding | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)       **NAPOLEON/ILLYA/OFC**  
23\. Scars | Master/Slave ~~| Shibari |~~ Size Difference       **MURDOCK/FACE**  
24\. ~~Pegging |~~ Leather | Lapdances |Shower/Bath **STARSKY/HUTCH**  
25\. ~~Tickling | Scat |~~ Boot Worship | Olfactophilia (Scent)       **KLINK/HOGAN**  
26\. ~~Lactation |~~ Roleplay | Smiles/Laughter | Toys      **MAGNUM/HIGGINS**  
27\. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Degradation | Gun Play | Against a wall       **ENOS/ROSCO**  
28\. Omorashi | Stripping/Striptease ~~| Vore |~~ Humiliation       **MURDOCK/FACE**  
29\. ~~Glory hole | Double (Or more) Penetration |~~ Sleepy Sex | Massage       **MAGNUM/HIGGINS**  
30\. Gagging ~~| Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose | Breast Worship |~~ Swallowing        **ENOS/ROSCO**  
31\. Any combination of the above!        **WILDCARD**


	2. Ready - STARSKY/HUTCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First entry is DONE!!  
> Honestly it went better than I thought but I have nothing to compare it to - I've never done one of these fanfic prompt month-long challenges before. I hope I can keep up the momentum!

* * *

Prompt: **Deep-Throating** ~~| Inflation~~ | **Face-Sitting** | ~~Masks~~         
Pairing: STARSKY/HUTCH  
Additional Tags: Established relationship, making love

1\. "Ready"

  
  
There are many things that David Starsky loves about his partner, but one of them is that there’s just _so much of him to love._ Being cops, they don’t always have the kind of languid, sensual mornings some couples get to enjoy – usually they don’t even have the luxury of staying over at one another’s houses. Keeping up appearances and all that – well. Bay City is more progressive than some places, certainly, but it isn’t feasible for them to be open about what they have.

 _Maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing,_ Starsky muses, looking up at a towering pillar of sweat-sheen and flushed skin and gold, gold hair. _Maybe it just makes these rare languid, sensual mornings that much sweeter._

It certainly makes him cherish them. They’ve both been nearly killed too many times to count. He stopped taking things for granted long before they first admitted how they felt about each other. No taking for granted the salt-sweat taste of Ken Hutchinson, fresh out of the shower, steamed and pink and wanting. The faint musk and trace of soap – sandalwood, this time – spur Starsky on – he chases after the taste with his tongue, stopping to circle the place where Ken’s still sore from the night before. He spears up and in, buries his face in hot, hard muscle, licks and licks until his jaw is aching and his chin is slick and Hutch is keening – begging – pride crumbling as he rides Starsky’s face.

He can get close like this, but he can’t come. They both know that, though Starsky’s tempted to pretend he’s forgotten, to draw it out. He pauses, teasing, moves up to lap at Hutch’s balls, and has his hair pulled for his trouble.

“You’re killing me, buddy,” Hutch groans, and it’s so desperate a sound that Starsky can’t deny him. He scoots up on the bed a little, lets Hutch settle back against his chest. He cranes his neck a bit, parts his lips, and takes the head of Hutch’s cock in his mouth. Hutch rolls against him, crashes down, down like a wave, until he’s so deep in Starsky’s throat it’s almost frightening. Primal warning bells blare in his head – he thinks for just a minute that he’ll suffocate before he remembers he’s safe, always safe here. Hutch will watch his back – remind him how to breathe.

“Buddy,” Hutch whimpers, hand stroking his face, fingers clumsy, as he pulls back to let his cockhead slap against Starsky’s lower lip. “Oh…”

The next time that beautiful prick surges forward, Starsky takes a deep breath through his nose. He finds Hutch's hand, now petting loosely over his cheek and jaw, and holds on tight, eyes crinkling at the edges as he looks up, meets his partner’s fevered gaze.

_All of it - all of me - yours._ _Anything you want, babe. I'm ready._


	3. Know Thine Enemy - HOGAN/KLINK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got it in at 11:59 pm. i'm a BEAST.

* * *

Prompt: ~~Ass Worship |~~ Begging | Medical play | Watersports  
Pairing: HOGAN/KLINK  
Additional Tags: Unrequited(?) affection, angst, POW torture aftermath, injured!Hogan, worried!Klink

2\. "Know Thine Enemy"

They do a real number on Hogan, this time, the guards. Klink does not know them well – they are reinforcements, sent to ‘maintain order’ while top brass is inspecting the camp. He cannot show weakness, not with the Gestapo breathing down his neck, so he waits until they are gone to have Hogan brought to his quarters, ostensibly to see a private doctor he has brought in. Of course, there is no such doctor – there is no one he can trust. He will see to the American himself.

They have, what is the colloquialism? ‘Worked him over?’ Klink can scarcely recognize the man seated before him, a lump of bruises, tenderized flesh, blood, and his hands – _Gott,_ his hands. A slash of white appears across his face – Hogan is _grinning_ – and Klink wants, for a moment, to strike him.

“Fool,” he says instead, his voice a touch too hoarse for nonchalance. “You should have known better than to attempt your usual mischief when my superiors were visiting. They warned you all – I warned you – if there was to be a prison break during this inspection, you would pay in blood.”

“Who’s to say there wasn’t one?” Hogan wheezes out a laugh. Klink tightens his grip on the damp cloth in his hand. He is not even surprised anymore. War makes hyperbole ubiquitous.

“So brazen,” he says, and its wrong again – his voice – too soft this time. “Lean forward, bitte.”

Hogan, then, is blessedly silent, except for a sharp hiss when the cloth passes over a particularly bad patch.

“You have very distinctive wounds,” Klink murmurs when the silence threatens to speak for him. “You appear to have been kicked.”

“No ‘appear’ about it,” Hogan winces. Klink moves the cloth down further and he groans, low, pained.

“Son of a bitch went to town on my kidneys,” he coughs. “Fuck – that hurts.”

“Hogan, I barely touched you,” Klink replies, and it comes out concerned when he aims for flippant.

“Can you – help me get up – I gotta – damn it – get to the latrine –”

“It is too far for you to be moved in this condition,” Klink protests.

“I’m not going to sit here and piss myself,” Hogan growls back, fiery as ever despite the pain.

“No, no, of course not.”

Klink sets the cloth aside and carefully helps the American to his feet. He does not think about what it means, to let Hogan use his personal facilities. The intimacy of it is staggering even before Hogan grits his teeth, proud, ashamed, and reaches to open his trousers. The motion is slight, but it is enough to make him sob.

“Stop – stop it – your fingers –“

“Will you just go? I have this under control!”

“They broke your fingers,” Klink retorts in the same, strange tone that has been plaguing him all night. Too soft. Too close –

“Help me, then.”

Hogan won’t meet Klink’s eyes – he’s fixed his stare on the wall. Klink gapes at him, unable to breathe. His pulse is racing.

“Hogan, I can’t –”

“Fucking _help me._ Please!” he snaps, as close to begging as he’s ever been. It makes Klink’s mouth dry to realize that this man, who could withstand torture with a grin on his face, is begging _him._

He reaches out. He does not allow himself to look beyond what’s necessary, to feel the weight of blood-warm skin in his palm.

The sound Hogan makes when he releases his bladder is as hideous and wrong as Klink feels. He stares at the stream as it arcs – pink turning to red. Klink is no surgeon but he doubts very much that bodes well for his prisoner’s kidneys.

Hogan is sobbing, now, soundlessly, and somehow that is worst of all, that he has crumbled at last, and like this. It is an indignity Klink would not wish upon his enemy – and he almost laughs at the thought.

 _You fool,_ he thinks. _You damned fool! What can he be but that?_


	4. Risk, Reward - NAPOLEON/ILLYA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short but hopefully a goody. :)

* * *

* * *

Prompt: Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play       **ALL FOUR MET!!**  
Pairing: NAPOLEON/ILLYA  
Additional Tags: Established relationship, top!Illya, bdsm, fear play, so much trust, mentions of Angelique

 

3\. "Risk, Reward"

 

The trust it takes for either of them to play like this speaks to an intimacy that Napoleon refuses to call by name. It makes his numerous trysts pale in comparison – no woman – not even Angelique – has ever had him on his back like this, naked, bound. There is no woman on earth he’d trust – and only one man.

With the earplugs in and the black silk tied securely over his eyes, he is as vulnerable as an infant. He feels fear – the same, primal fear that is Man’s first experience of horror, when he emerges into the world, squalling, red-faced, into an environment so alien, so overwhelming, that he can do nothing but scream. Like a newborn, Napoleon _does_ scream – scream, sob, whimper – into the necktie in his mouth. It’s one of Illya’s – smells like him – saturated and limp on his tongue.

Cold first – ice – trailing like a frozen mollusk over his ribs. It is uncomfortable, makes his skin crawl, but it does not scare him. The heat that follows, though, makes panic flare in his mind. Fire is dangerous – fire is pain – fire is one of the first things that Man learned to fear.

The knife comes last. He both loves and hates it. Illya is patient, glacially so, raking the sharp edge ever so gently over Napoleon’s trembling thighs and restless hips and up, up along the underside of his shaft. He keeps it up for thirty minutes – maybe an hour. Napoleon loses his sense of time first, then his pleading words, all caught behind the gag. The fear is the last thing to fall away, and when he bucks forward towards the knife, so desperate for completion that he’d risk the sting of the blade on his most vital of parts, Illya’s hand seizes him, slick and sure, and Napoleon weeps with the dizzying relief of a supplicant before a god, grateful for its mercy.


	5. Appreciation - ENOS/ROSCO

Prompt: Spanking | Mirror Sex ~~| Spit-roasting |~~ Dacryphilia (Crying)        
Pairing: ENOS/ROSCO  
Additional Tags: established relationship, workplace relationships, praise kink, oral sex, bisexual!Enos, friends with benefits, service top!Enos

 

4\. "Appreciation"

Enos enjoys his job, and all its duties, officially and unofficially-speaking. He knows how much Hazzard County relies on him doing his job, making the streets safer and the townsfolk comfortable. He’s a good asset to the police force, and a good asset to the people of his county, and a very good asset to his boss. Rosco needs him, of that he has no doubt. Some days, the job is too much for him. Being yelled at constantly by all and sundry, being made a fool of by them Duke boys… Rosco’s never been particularly thick-skinned, and life has a way of dragging him through the dirt.

Enos knows, even before Flash gets a nasty bee sting on one hind paw, that Rosco’s reserves of fortitude are running a little low. When the dog comes in, whimpering and whining, tail tucked, all wet eyes and misery, Enos knows. Knows to have the house clean, knows to have things ready, knows that, sure as sugar, Rosco will turn up on his doorstep after the work day’s done.

He doesn’t ask how Rosco’s feeling because he can guess – he’s here, after all. He doesn’t try to talk about what it means when Rosco looks over his shoulder before crossing the threshold, taking his hat off and worrying it in his hands. Rosco doesn’t come to him for that. Instead, he slaps a big smile on and chirrups a ‘Good evenin’, Sheriff!’ and stands aside to let Rosco in.

Sometimes, Enos wonders if he isn’t vastly underutilized in his present occupational capacity. When Rosco’s naked as a jaybird, bent over his knee, well, that’s one of those times. Not that Enos would want to do this for a living – his arm would get tired, for one thing, and there’s something particularly rewarding about seeing his superior’s backside turn red as a cherry from the walloping he delivers. Still, all this unspoken empathy, the way he knows to do it in the bedroom by the mirror so that Rosco can sneak glances at himself and sniffle his way to feeling a bit better, has Enos wondering if he shouldn’t have considered some sort of community outreach sort of position.

Speaking of position, he thinks Rosco’s about done. The old man’s knees aren’t quite what they were in his prime, and if his sobs are anything to go by, he’s had about all the pain he can take. Enos lets his hand fall to one of the hot, flushed cheeks, and gives it a reassuring little pat.

“Feel any better?” he asks brightly. Rosco fumbles for his words – and his handkerchief, discarded with his clothes – but Enos has a spare at the ready. The sheriff dries his eyes and blows his nose before managing a shy smile of his own.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he enthuses, “but you fixed me right up. I really don’t thank you like I should – I mean – really, you’re so helpful – I reckon I’ve never known a better deputy. I mean that.”

Enos feels like the proverbial cat that got the cream, luxuriating in the words even as he shyly avoids his boss’s eyes. The mirror doesn’t let him escape his situation for long, but Rosco’s a good man – he doesn’t tease him for it.

“Aw, don’t beat yourself up, now,” he says with a sort of paternal fondness, “When I was your age – well. It don’t take much to get your motor running’s all I mean to say. It don’t mean you care for Daisy any less. You want a hand with that?”

Enos is surprised – pleased – but surprised. He shouldn’t be – Rosco offers nearly every time – but he still can’t believe himself as he shrugs and nods.

“Y’mean that?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t – besides, it’s the least I can do.”

He thinks just briefly of Daisy, and her long, long legs, and his pulse begins to throb real urgent below the belt. He looks over at Rosco, red-faced and red-bottomed, and that pulse ticks up a notch more.

“Well, if you don’t mind obligin’, I’m not fixin’ to refuse!”

Really, he knows how important he is to Hazzard County for all that he likes – loves – to hear it. Still, Enos thinks, tangling his fingers in Rosco’s hair and grinning wide as he’s plunged into wet heat, it sure is nice to be shown appreciation once in a while.


	6. Well Matched - STARSKY/HUTCH

* * *

Prompt: Feet | Sadism/Masochism | Feederism ~~| Shotgunning~~        
Pairing: STARSKY/HUTCH  
Additional Tags: Love confession, bromance, massage, banter, flirtation, fluff

 

5\. "Well Matched"

 

“I’m pooped,” Starsky declares, falling with a thud onto his partner’s sofa. “And I’m mad at you.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Hutch is grinning in spite of himself, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“You know what you did. You let that damn heiress force me to try all those canapés.”

“Nobody _forced_ you to eat them. Besides, we were undercover – I wasn’t supposed to know you, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Blame the job. God, if I so much as see another 'vol-au-vent' in the next ten years, I think I’m gonna die.”

Hutch rolls his eyes. Starsky toes his shoes off with a grimace, the act of bending over to remove them proving too painful when the waistband of his pants – dark corduroys fitting his alias’s spiffier persona – cuts into his stomach. He stares down at his toes and wriggles them miserably.

“I’m getting bunions.”

“You’re not getting bunions. What kind of tea do you want?”

“I don’t want any tea – did you not hear me? I’m so full I’m gonna pop like a balloon. And those damn shoes are gonna give me bunions. I’m convinced they have my size wrong.”

“Take it up with Dobey if it’s that serious. We don’t want you losing circulation – you could get necrosis, maybe lose a leg.”

“It’s not funny!” Starsky pouts. Hutch just laughs as he fixes two cups of tea – Earl Grey for himself and an herbal ‘stomach soother’ for Starsky. He ambles over to the couch and sits down, putting each mug on a coaster and sliding Starsky’s over with a grin.

“I said I didn’t want tea.”

“It’s for your digestion. Try it.”

Starsky lifts it to his face and gives it a cursory sniff. He wrinkles his nose.

“Smells like an old folks’ home.”

“It’s chamomile. Give me your feet.”

“Huh?”

“Drink your tea and let me rub your feet. I’m tired of you bitching about them.”

Starsky grumbles a bit for show, but adjusts himself on the couch so that his feet are in Hutch’s lap. The blond peels his socks off, balling them neatly, and then jams his thumb into the arch of his right foot. Starsky yelps, nearly dousing himself in hot chamomile.

“Would you be careful? That hurts!”

“That means it’s working,” Hutch retorts, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Yeah, it’s working – so says the guy who’s smiling like a weirdo while he’s crippling me. You’re a sadist, you know that?’

“Come on, Starsk, don’t you want to get well?”

Hutch gives a particularly strong press with his thumb, working Starsky’s toes in his hand until he feels something pop. He soothes the spot with a gentler circular motion, still grinning like a loon. Starsky looks him over, goofy grin and all, and snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re crazy.”

“You love it.”

It just slips out, as natural as any of the rest of their banter. Still, Hutch freezes, just for a second, and he doesn’t have to look at Starsky to know he’s been caught.

“Well, yeah,” Starsky replies. “I must, otherwise why the hell’d I let you rough me up like this?”

Hutch looks up then, and sees fondness reflected back at him. He laughs in breathless relief, inadvertently giving Starsky’s feet a squeeze.

“It’s really the only good explanation,” he manages, a little stunned by the ease with which his world’s just been turned on its head. Starsky’s smile turns a little bit feral and he lets his hand drop, deliberately, to his upper thigh, thumb just resting against the button of his pants.

“It’s probably for the best,” he leers. “I think I’m a bit of a masochist, myself.”


	7. Hot Holiday in Hazzard County - ENOS/ROSCO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixing all the 'Rosco(e)'s because I'm a turkey of a man who forgot he doesn't spell it with an 'e'.
> 
> Also I'm hella behind I'M SORRY Canadian thanksgiving + mental health episode = scheduling issues
> 
> But I'm gonna catch up as fast as I can.
> 
> (Fuck, I love this ship too much.)

* * *

Prompt: ~~Daddy~~ _"Pappy"_ kink ~~| Corset |~~ Cock Worship | Biting  
Pairing: ENOS/ROSCO  
Additional Tags: slight weight gain, Enos's praise kink, Rosco talking dirty which goes about as well as you'd expect (but Enos seems to like it), for some reason Christmas!fic?

 

6\. "Hot Holiday in Hazzard County"

“Watchu lookin’ at, Sheriff?”

Enos catches his stare when he happens to glance over his shoulder. He’s bending down to get a file box from off the floor – Lord knows how it got put there to begin with – and he can feel from the way that his uniform pants are stretched across his rear-end that he’s putting himself on show a bit. It was unintentional, really – a few extra pounds put on around Thanksgiving that he hasn’t quite managed to shake off yet mean his clothes fit a little tighter than usual. Rosco’s eyeing him like a fox leering at a whole coop full of chickens, and it makes Enos blush right up to the tips of his ears.

“We’re at work,” he adds under his breath, but he’s grinning just the same. The precinct is understaffed to begin with and this close to Christmas, everyone’s calling in sick.

“We don’t hafta be,” the sheriff replied with enough boyish eagerness to make him sound half his age. Enos picked up the file box, turned around, and set it on his desk.

“Oh? Now, who’s gonna stop them Duke boys from causin’ a ruckus if you an’ me are back at my place knockin’ boots?”

He feigns irritation, crossing his arms over his chest, playing it haughty and superior. Sometimes it gets Rosco fired up, but all it does this time is make him furrow his brow and sulk. He mutters something inhospitable and slumps in his chair, glaring down at the small mountain of outstanding paperwork on his desk. Enos can’t keep his act up for long – not when Rosco looks like he’s really hurting – so he softens his tone and walks over, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“What’s the matter, Sheriff? You look about as sad as a dog on a chain when the bitch one farm over’s in heat.”

“I feel it,” Rosco mutters. “You over there lookin’ all… plump an’ juicy. It ain’t fair, you teasin’ an old man like you do. Goes against the whole spirit of Christmas.”

“Well, shoot, you talkin’ like that’s not gonna help either of us!”

Enos sneaks a peek around the otherwise empty room, then leans in and gives the older man a quick peck on the tip of his nose.

“Let me finish typin’ up my reports – you finish cookin’ the books for Boss Hogg. We’ll clock out in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll cook you!” Rosco gripes. “Jus’ how corrupt do you think I am?”

“Be a good sport, Pappy,” Enos retorts, as wild-eyed as any Duke boy ever was. “You can put me in my place when we get home.”

“Twenty-five minutes,” Rosco growls, but he’s blushing all the same.

It winds up being twenty, but Enos decides not to split hair about it. It’s hard to think of splitting anything, except maybe his superior’s backside, while he’s being manhandled against the inside of his front door and kissed silly.

“I could climb you like a tree,” Rosco groans, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh of Enos’s throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.

“D-don’t leave – _ah_ – marks where nobody can see ‘em, now –”

“Collar’ll cover it,” Rosco mumbles into his neck. He’s already working both their belts open – one of his unexpected talents that a younger Enos would never have expected he’d see in person: Rosco’s functionally ambidextrous in the bedroom (or front hall, as the case may be.) The jangle of their buckles sounds absurdly loud to the deputy’s ears and he hisses when a hand finds him, already hard and wanting. Rosco takes him in his mouth like a professional, slurping and suckling and gobbling him down to the base.

“Oh, Lord!” Enos wheezes, head tipping back against the door. He’s crushing his hat – he fumbles one hand up to tear it off and chucks it across the room. His other hand cups the back of Rosco’s head, stroking through his hair, tugging at it, guiding him to take him deeper. Rosco pulls back, panting, to catch his breath, and looks up, eyes bright and lips swollen. He palms full handfuls of Enos’s ass.

“Glory, you look a picture,” he murmurs, kissing around the head, eyes peeping up through his lashes like a pretty young thing. “Fillin’ out your uniform, buttons shinin’. Classes up the place to have you come ‘round, dispensin’ real law and order.”

As always, Enos flourishes with the praise. He pats Rosco’s hair affectionately.

“I didn’t mean t’chide you with that dig about Boss Hogg, y’know,” he says, all soft and fond. “I was only playin’.”

“You’re not half wrong is the trouble,” Rosco says with his tongue busy, words coming out muffled. He pulls off his prize with a pop, nuzzling and nosing at the firm flesh like a happy little cat rubbing up against a pantleg. “I wish I could be the sort of man you could look up to.”

“A father figure, y’mean?” Enos muses dreamily.

“I more so meant like –”

“You like me callin’ you Pappy already. Maybe you could call me son a bit, jus’ when we’re foolin’ around. You wanna teach me some things, like fishin’? Huntin’?”

Enos lowers his voice to a scalding growl.

_“Shootin’?”_

Rosco groans against the underside of his cock.

“You wanna help me shoot, Pappy? Maybe down by the crick – we could strip down to our skin an’ you could let me take a good _hard_ look at your gun. I’m a quick study – I’d be a real good boy for you, if’n that’s whatchu want.”

“I _wanna_ hook you like a hound dog, Enos,” Rosco groans. “See that big bee-hind a yers jiggle when I mount you.”

“Possum on a gum bush, Rosco,” Enos whines, hips rolling forward. “Watchu waitin’ for? Ain’t neither of us gettin' any younger!”

Rosco lets out a yipping noise of jubilance, culminating in a goofy howl that has Enos laughing even as he’s half-shoved over the arm of the couch. Rosco nips him on the ear for good measure as he fumbles in the sidetable drawer for the little tube he knows is kept there. He slicks up quick and presses home and its enough of a stretch that Enos knows he’ll be walking ginger come tomorrow. He laughs, Rosco’s hand tickling as he reaches ‘round to give his prick a pull, and is all too happy to leave Hazzard county troublemakers to their own devices for the time being, just so long as he’s getting pounded good and steady by his Pappy. That, he reflects, would make it one glorious delight of a Christmas holiday.


	8. Returning the Favor - HOGAN/KLINK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. I'm determined to catch up asap!

* * *

Prompt: Praise-kink ~~| Body Swap |~~ Aphrodisiacs ~~| Incest~~  
Pairing: HOGAN/KLINK  
Additional Tags: Continues in the same universe as the last one of these I wrote for this pairing. Also: angst, deception, non-consensual drugging. And written in past tense for some reason.

 

7\. "Returning the Favor"

Hogan cursed the plan, such as it was, almost as much as he cursed the idiot who supplied them with the sedatives in the first place. _Ha. ‘Sedatives’ my ass,_ he thought. Klink was hardly _sedate_ in his present circumstances.

He hadn’t wanted Klink drugged to begin with. It was not the ideal set-up, but it was the only way to ensure complete safety when he snuck back into Klink’s office to replace some documents Klink had to send to Berlin with forgeries and – hopefully – in so doing, save some innocent people’s lives. He heard the moaning on his way back to brief the others and had honestly thought that Klink was simply ill. After all, LeBeau had slipped the drugs into his soup. Now, he had an armful of clingy German, and all because of that damned powder. Still, he couldn’t blame LeBeau – no. This was an intel problem. They’d been given the wrong drugs by their source – some kind of mix-up – the sleeping pills had gone to someone else. God knows what allied agents were doing with _whatever the hell they’d used on Klink instead._ Hogan shuddered just thinking about it. Torture, maybe? Some kind of bizarre whips-and-chains kind of fiasco?

“Robert? _Was –_ why are you in my – my rooms?” Klink slurred, even as he half-mauled the American to death, pressing up on him like he wanted to seep through his skin.

“You’re not feeling well, Colonel,” Hogan lied, feigning innocence. “Don’t you remember? You asked me to check on you.”

“You…? Check on… me? But why?”

“Maybe it has something to do with what happened the night the Gestapo beat me half to death.”

It was a hunch – nothing more. Something between them – something about Klink – had changed after that night. Hogan wasn’t sure what it said about him that he couldn’t tell what outcome he liked the least – the plan failing completely, or his hunch proving true.

“Poor Hogan…” Klink whimpered, covering his face with his hands. He shook his head violently. “So awful – to see you like that – I could not stomach it!”

“You helped me out,” Hogan reminded him, voice wavering. He cleared his throat, clenched his jaw. _Commit to this or it all falls through._ “I’m returning the favor.”

He steeled himself – reached out. Klink hissed like a punctured lung when he touched him deliberately, slow and firm, between the legs.

“Is that all it is?” he whispered, and Hogan nearly said ‘uncle.’

“No,” he managed, and his chest felt tight and sickly in ways he usually didn’t feel when the job forced him to bend the truth. Klink looked so damn vulnerable, asking in his own pitiful way if – if Hogan –

“You’re a good man,” he said, more tersely than he meant to, but the drugs were working Klink over good, and his hand was moving enough to cause a distraction. “Under other circumstances, I’d have liked to know you better – to consider you my friend.”

“A friend,” Klink echoed, eyes huge and dark.

“You’re a good man,” Hogan repeated. Klink keened at that and the fabric beneath Hogan’s hand grew wet. Almost immediately, the German began to slump, exhaustion setting in.

“Let’s put you back to bed,” Hogan mumbled. He felt weird – like he’d broken something he didn’t know could be broken to begin with. He helped Klink lie down, tucked him in, then turned to go.

“Goodnight,” he added, but it was pointless – Klink was already asleep.


	9. Real Fear - STARSKY/HUTCH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I really tried to get more of the fisting to fit (heh) but it didn't. Sorry for those of you who might care about that. I'm not a big fan of it at the best of times so the fact that this is 'fisting lite' doesn't honestly bother me as much as might some of you. So sorry if I got your hopes (or anything else. heh.) up on that one.

* * *

Prompt: Blood/Gore ~~| Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting |~~ ~~Hate-fucking/~~ **Angry Sex**  
Pairing: STARSKY/HUTCH  
Additional Tags: on-the-job cop stuff (fighting domestic terrorism, a white supremacist accidentally explodes on Starsky), explosions, minor injury, established relationship, angst, feels

 

8\. "Real Fear"

It happened so fast – one minute Starsky was chasing a criminal through an abandoned warehouse, Hutch yelling after him to wait up – and the next, he was covered in a gelatinous film of red, sailing backwards at high speed, crashing into Hutch’s chest and knocking them both over. His ears were ringing – Hutch’s face swam above him – bone-white with fear. He was speaking, but Starsky couldn’t make out the words.

“Ex-exploded,” Starsky slurred, blinking dazedly up past Hutch, watching dust motes dancing in the light that trickled in from the holes in the warehouse roof. “He exploded, Hutch.”

His eyes felt funny. Gunky – like they had blood on them.

He didn’t think he was bleeding.

When the ambulance arrived, Starsky was taken away, but not before he glimpsed the forensics team scraping bits of their suspect off the walls.

He’d escalated fast. Letter bombs – none of which had worked, thank God. A car bomb that blew too early. He was sloppy – an amateur playing with a chemistry set. No one had been hurt, but they’d had reason to expect he planned an act of domestic terrorism – he’d been on his way to Bay City’s bustling downtown when they caught up to him.

Maybe the pursuit had jostled one of his cables or something. Starsky didn’t like to see anybody die, but if the choice was between a bunch of civilians on their way to work and some kind of white-supremacist slimeball, he knew which way he’d rather it went down. Ultimately, things could have been worse, and if the suspect had wanted a different way out, he should’ve thought twice before strapping a bomb to his chest.

Starsky was content to leave the case in the hospital room he recovered in. The ringing in his ears faded in a few days, and after a thorough cleaning at the hands of a pretty nurse, he was declared fighting fit.

He had hoped things would go back to normal, after that.

“How the hell could you do that to yourself?” Hutch hissed, his hand, slippery with lube, gripping Starsky’s shoulder just a little too tight. “Did you not hear me? I told you to wait!”

“I’m not a dog,” Starsky retorted. “Come on – it’s a dangerous job. We’ve both been through worse.”

“He had a _bomb,_ Starsk. There’s no fist-fighting your way out of that one – if you’d been… God, if you’d been a foot closer to him, the doctor said you’d have been killed.”

He exhaled as though pained, sat back on his heels, ran a hand over his face.

“I thought you were supposed to be welcomin’ me home,” Starsky needled him. What else could he do? Hutch could get like this sometimes – distant, caught up in his own head. Usually, Starsky could reach him, but not always. Not when he’d been the one to drive him away.

“You’re so reckless sometimes,” Hutch said quietly, tracing a scar on Starsky’s side – one of many countless dents he’d picked up on the job, now old and fading. “You keep doing that and one day it’s gonna be me who croaks.”

“Nah. You’ll live forever,” Starsky answered, but the attempt at levity fell flat. Despite having been on his hands and knees, naked and waiting for Hutch's fist, for nearly twenty minutes, he suddenly felt uncomfortably exposed.

“I can’t stand it,” Hutch repeated. “God, you were just… just lying there. Covered in – bits of him. I thought you were gone – thought it was your blood. In the moment I completely forgot what happened. All I could think about was that there’d been a loud noise and you were there just staring at the ceiling…”

He steeled himself, and when his eyes met Starsky’s there was fire in them alongside the pain.

“Never again. I’m not stupid, I know this job is full of risks and I know we’ll probably see each other hurt worse than this someday, but damn it, the next time I tell you to wait you _wait._ What good are we to each other if we can’t trust that we have each other’s backs? What about ‘me and thee’ – what about not taking the kind of stupid chances that’ll get us killed – what about that?”

He was furious – shaking – but he was crying, too, just a little. Starsky’s heart melted at that. He reached out a hand and cupped Hutch’s clenched jaw, rolling over onto his back in submission.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I didn’t listen to you when I should’ve. I just… he was so close I thought maybe I could stop him doin’ somethin’ crazy.”

“So, you did something crazy,” Hutch muttered. “God, I was so scared.”

He enfolded Starsky in the kind of hug that was grounding and healing and forgiving all at once.

“Me too.”


	10. Red and Waiting - MAGNUM/HIGGINS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole installment was a hoot to write. I love writing banter so much.

* * *

Prompt: ~~Titfucking~~ | Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles) | Bondage | Lingerie  
Pairing: MAGNUM/HIGGINS  
Additional Tags: Established relationship, banter, tons of snark, bad puns

2\. "Red and Waiting"

“Magnum, you look ridiculous.”

“Gee, Higgins, you sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Magnum retorted, thick arms folded over his broad chest and the deep red lace that was stretched taught across it. He _did_ look ridiculous, six foot four, long-limbed swimmer’s build encased in the sort of frilly negligee you’d expect to see on a Florida housewife trying to spice things up in the bedroom for the first time in thirty years. It was the only thing he’d found that had been able to fit, designed as it was for a more matronly figure than the skimpier things he had in mind, and he’d had to bear the cashier’s lascivious grin when he asked if it was a present for his mother. _No, actually, it’s for me to wear in my attempt at surprising the stick-in-the-mud Brit that I’m having a homoerotic tryst with, thanks for asking._ Somehow, he doubted that would have gone down very well.

“Why have you tied your ankles to the bedposts?”

“Why do you think?” the American replied dryly. Leave it to Higgins to get under his skin when he should’ve been getting into his pants.

“You left your arms free.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t tie them myself, plus I had to be ready to defend myself in case your dogs thought I was a home intruder and tried to make off with my garter.”

Higgins took a minute to digest both the phrasing and the way Magnum had managed to say it all with not only a straight face, but a touch of petulant annoyance as well.

“Really, Magnum. I don’t think either of us have time for this sort of tomfoolery.”

“Tomfoolery! Higgins, I spent almost forty dollars on this getup! Do you know how hard it is to find fishnet tights big enough to fit a grown man?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do!” Higgins snapped back, patience at an end.

“What?”

When the younger man showed no sign of speaking, his mouth hanging open, brow creased, Higgins turned and walked with military precision and a spine so far from crooked you could use it as an industrial level and opened his closet door. He retrieved the unassuming box from its place on the floor, removed the lid, and promptly flung the folded stockings contained within at Magnum, striking him squarely in the chest.

“What, indeed.”

Magnum looked at the fabric piled on his pectorals, then at Higgins, then back at the fabric. His face broke into a grin.

“You mean – when you said – but I thought you meant –”

“Yes, well,” Higgins sniffed primly. “Perhaps that will teach you not to assume things about people.”

Magnum tipped his head back and laughed until there were tears in his eyes. He wiped at them, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m a detective,” he wheezed. “It’s my job to assume. Honestly, how was I supposed to that when you said you wanted to bring lingerie into the bedroom that you meant _these?”_

He picked up the stockings and waggled the feet at Higgins playfully. Irritated, the older man snatched them back.

“Yes, well, now that you’ve had your fun at my expense –”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s not why I’m laughing!” Magnum sobered quickly. “If you feel good wearing that stuff – if you want to wear it for me, then you go right ahead. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Am I supposed to be thankful you’re not _bothered_?”

Magnum groaned. He scratched himself absently as he rebutted the point.

“Don’t start a fight over this. Come on. You _know_ what I mean. You want to wear it – be my guest! I’m more than happy to swap places with you – I think these panties are giving me a rash anyway.”

“You needn’t swap _places_ with me,” Higgins replied. “I rather think I like you _tied down._ That was much the point of suggesting it. Your wardrobe needs a little adjustment, but you’re an industrious lad. You’ll think of something.”

He walked over to Magnum’s discarded blue jeans, puddled on the floor, and lifted them up.

“Do you still carry a pocket knife?”

“Should be in there yeah – hey, you’re not cutting me out of these! They were forty bucks – Higgins, do you know what I could’ve got with forty bucks?”

“I imagine you have no shortage of ideas,” Higgins murmured, retrieving the knife and stalking back towards the bed with a gleam in his eye. “Your hands, please.”

“No, not my hands! You’re gonna cut me out of these and I won’t let you do it!”

“Magnum, need I remind you this was your mistake to begin with? You’re not telling me you actually plan to wear _these –”_ he snapped the elastic of one shoulder strap hard against Magnum’s skin – “again? Did the establishment you procured these from allow for returns?”

“Fine!” Magnum snapped, offering up his wrists. Higgins made short work of fixing them above his head before flipping open the knife and getting to work on the nearest bit of red lace.

“Red isn’t your colour, you know,” Higgins added.

“I wear red all the time!”

“Not this shade, you don’t. It makes you look anemic. If you ever take it upon yourself to do this again, I would recommend you strive for a bright tomato – even a cherry –”

“I’m never doing this again,” Magnum seethed. “But I’ll be sure to dress you up like a pumpkin!”

“Don’t be preposterous,” Higgins answered easily, sawing through the last bit of cloth. He smoothed the ragged edges away and off, leaving his prize bare. “There, now.”

“Well? Do I pass muster?” Magnum asked, going as far as to clench first his left pectoral, then his right.

“Absolutely.”

Higgins’s voice was an octave lower than usual, and sandpapery around the edges. Magnum snorted.

“You look like some kind of crazed safari hunter, looming at me like that. At least take your shirt off for Heaven’s sake.”

“I don’t take orders from my game, no matter how big it is,” Higgins replied. “If you want to be stuffed and mounted, you’ll let me take my time.”

“That was corny even for you.”

Higgins kissed him squarely on the mouth.

“Are you quite finished?” he drawled, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes even as he tried to retain a look of annoyed disinterest.

“Not yet, but if you keep kissing me like that it’d be a start.”

“You’re really terribly puerile, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I also know that you happen to like my particular brand of puerile.”

Magnum lifted his hips by way of proving his point. The answering hardness that brushed his own spoke for itself.

“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean I should encourage it,” Higgins admitted. “We wouldn’t want you getting a swelled head.”

“Too late for that,” Magnum winked.

“Really. Must you?”

“Mm hmm. I know how much you love it when I make puns.”

Magnum arched his back, clenching his various muscle groups, making a show of straining against his bonds.

“Almost as much as you like it when I do this, huh?”

“S-sufficiently less so,” Higgins muttered, somewhat pink in the face.

“I dunno about this rope, Higgins. I think I could probably tear my way out of here if I really had to.”

Magnum grinned at the involuntary noise Higgins made, watching as the older man’s tongue poked out to hastily, and unconsciously, wet his lower lip.

“Oh, you could, could you?”

He was murmuring now, and his eyes were dark. _Easy as pie,_ Magnum thought, equal parts smug and fond.

“I dunno. Wanna bet on it?”

Higgins moved in close, breath hot on his ear.

“No,” he hissed. “I’d rather do something else entirely.”

“Be my guest,” Magnum wiggled his toes. “Only you’ll have to do a lot of the work. I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

He felt the snort of amusement against his shoulder – no doubt Higgins would deny it later – in the very same moment he felt that deft hand grab him possessively and stroke him from root to tip. Honestly, he couldn’t tell what pleased him more.


End file.
